Teenage Horror Story

April 1, 2014 at 6:00 PM
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Boom! A loud clap of thunder shakes you out of your reverie. Your head jerks up and your mouth shuts. Hastily, you wipe off any drool you might have on your chin and glance around to make sure no one noticed. Good. Everything’s the same: Miss Bertrand droning on, kids staring slack-jawed out the window or at the clock. A normal Monday morning in first period. However, you have the strangest feeling in the pit of your stomach. It wasn’t supposed to rain today. And why is it so cold? You shiver and look around, trying to see if anyone else is cold.

You catch the eye of the weird new kid named Jeff. He gives you a slight smile that is more of a grimace, you think. He’s probably just another new kid smiling a greeting while grimacing at the lecture, but you vow to stay on your guard. Today is going to be a bad day, your instinct tells you. It will be the start of something new, and that something is not going to be good. A shadow falls across the window shade on the door. Something looming towards it. You catch your breath, heart pounding like crazy, and the door slowly creaks open. Your breath hitches in your throat.

Phew. It’s just the secretary, Miss Pepperdine. She tells Miss Bertrand that she needs to borrow one of her students “for just an eensy second” and with a smile way too peppy to be on anyone’s face on a day like today she beckons to you. You gulp, slowly rise, and shaking from head to foot, walk out of the classroom. As you follow her down the hallway towards the principal’s office, you hardly dare think what could have happened. Miss Pepperdine is only called upon to escort kids to the office during horrible circumstances. Clickety- clack, her shoes say as they walk purposefully towards the office door.

Coming out of the door is your school’s psychologist. A severe, businesslike woman, she looks back into the office and says, “I’m sorry sir, but I am not qualified enough to handle an issue as serious as this. As she walks past you, she fixes you with a stare filled with a mixture of pity and horror. Miss Pepperdine claps her hands together and with an overly cheery smile, says, “well, I guess this is your cue!” and ushers you through the door.

Your hands are clammy and you think, rather morbidly, “this is the last second of my previously normal life. Whatever happens in here is going to change everything forever.” You walk inside, and your mouth instantly goes dry when you see the scene. Your parents are sitting opposite the principal, looking at you with complex expressions of horror, despair, and disappointment. Your mom, upon seeing you, smiles weakly and says, “Hi honey, we found your tumblr”.

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Bill Cosby Commercial

April 1, 2014 at 4:00 PM
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Last week, on a wet and windy night, with no motivation to finish my college assignments, I began to peruse the Internet as a way to procrastinate, as we all often do. Having completed Sonic the Hedgehog on an emulator a few hours earlier, I was in a nostalgic mood. After searching youtube for old Sega Genesis commercials, my finger still lingered on the mouse. I kept clicking on the suggested videos and reliving old memories from my childhood. I felt a comfort one only gets from seeing things you never really knew had such an influence on you when you were young and innocent.
Soon I was lost revelling in such classics as “melts in your mouth, not in your hand”, “Who loves orange soda?” “NO SOUP FOR YOU”, “How you doin’?”, “Come with me if you want to live”, “The truth is out there” and of course, “Wassssssaaaaaaaap!!”
I only realised that I’d lost track of time when I tried to find my phone in what was now a pitch dark room. Checking the time on my monitor I was shocked to find it was already after 2 AM. I resolved to go to bed as I had class in the morning, but couldn’t resist watching one last video, just to round off the night. Scanning through the suggestions, I was disappointed to find that I had watched them all, except for this one video at the very bottom, entitled “Bill Cosby sells his soul for pudding”. Although I had a vague idea of who Bill Cosby was from old Simpsons episodes, I’d never actually seen anything he was famous for- but I’ll admit the title intrigued me somewhat.
As I clicked the link and sat back to be entertained, I had no Idea that I was making the biggest mistake of my life.

The video started off Innocently enough, obviously some old commercial for gelatine.
Bill Cosby was standing in a Kitchen surrounded by little kids. “There’s an easy way to make Jelo instant pudding- Just shake it!” He announced in a cheery voice. The Video skipped a bit at this point, lingering on the “Shake it” part- a tad annoying, but the Internet in the house could become a little jittery at times, so I was used to it. The video cut to Cosby’s head moving in from the left of the screen- “Follow the Directions” he said. I wasn’t sure why at the time, but something about this was vaguely unsettling, though I thought perhaps it was due to the fact that it was a sudden jump cut. A mangled version of the product jingle played, then it cut back to “Follow the directions”, only slower– my brow furrowed. The next part was from a different advert, Cosby was holding four jiggling watermelons, the movement seemed to be semi-cyclical, moving from the start to the end and back again. It was hypnotic, and quite nauseating, which made it all the more abrupt when then audio cut to triple speed “What’s making these watermelons wriggle?”, I felt at this point extremely uncomfortable, like my defences were being broken down. I felt like, just like- “Just like Jelo gelatin” Cosby finished the thought for me, several times. This was beginning to feel really weird.
The scene cut to a ginger kid repeating the same movement over and over.
“That’s it” I thought. “enough of this”. Ginger kids freaked me out at the best of times. As I raised my hand to move the mouse however, something peculiar happened. A cut to Cosby again, moving his left hand in seemingly random directions, pudding pop in his right, repeating “This, this, or this” a number of times. My right hand immediately became stiff and started to spasm beyond my control, disrupting my path to the mouse. After that point on, I was powerless to control myself- forced to sit and witness what was unfolding before me, regardless of will. At this point of no return, Cosby lingered a look of surprise my way, almost mockingly, emitting a demonically low pitched moan. I was scared.
Another kid in the video seemed to echo my emotions, “Hey Bill Cosby what’s tha- AH AH AH”. If I could have screamed at that point, I would have.
“Follow the directions” Cosby repeated horrifyingly.
The Mangled Jingle played again, for longer this time, each second forcibly propping up my eyelids.
The watermelon part reappeared, even slower than before, but instead of being nauseated, I felt lulled into subservience.
The scene cut to a smiley faced clock, moving its hands in an almost wave-like pattern, A bit- crunched warning repeated almost too quick for me to make out- “You sing you die, you sing you die” before crunching completely to a jarring buzz, its eyes popping open and shut at a speed greater than what should be physically possible.
“Follow the Directions”
The video grinded to a complete halt, Cosby’s judgmental eyes fixed squarely on mine, just long enough to make me feel a glimmer of hope that the internet had failed, before he whipped his head back saying “Don’t worry…” with a smug superiority.
“…Pudding pop swirl” The demon Cosby finished, before letting his head fly about erratically on his unmoving shoulders in a movement akin to something out of ‘The Exorcist’.
“whatwhatwhatwhat” it continued, as if to eradicate any morsel of critical thinking left in my being.
The demon proceeded to fellate a chocolate pudding pop with a sleazy, unholy glee. A close-up cut to its burningly erotic gaze left me with no semblance of the lie that I had not been violated. Even though the video quality was grainy, those eyes pierced me to my very soul; they were so…Hyper-Realistic.
“Thank you” it finished, before poising itself like a cat ready to pounce.
In the brief respite that followed I allowed myself to exhale for the first time since that horror began. As the breath exuded however, I felt my consciousness follow suit, all remnants of perception fading as I slipped into an abyss, serenaded by the haunting echo of “WaaatteerrrMmeelloonns” marking my descent into darkness, until I knew no more.

I came to by the sound of the front door closing downstairs. It was still dark outside.
“Man I must’ve been conked out for at least an hour” I thought to myself as I rubbed the back of my creaky neck on the way down to the kitchen.
I felt exhausted as I pushed open the door, but I needed both water and to find out who could be calling at this hour. Turns out it was just my housemate getting home from a nightclub.
“Hey man” I greeted him. “Didn’t know you went out, don’t you have an exam in the morning? What is it like 4AM?”
“What are you talking about dude?” He asked, quizzically. “It’s only half twelve. And that exam was this morning. You high or somethin’?”
At this point I felt extremely muddled. “Nah man that can’t be right. I fell asleep like two hours ago. We just finished playing ‘Sonic’ earlier on remember?”
“Dude that was YESTERDAY, I ain’t seen you at all today. Whatever you’re on you gotta share it with me!” He chuckled.
My face knotted into a ball of confusion. I simply turned to go check my calendar upstairs, he couldn’t have been right.
“Pffft fine” he snorted.
“And by the way, you owe me a box of pudding pops!!” he called after me.
I froze. “What did you say??”.
“My pudding pops. I had a whole box this morning now they’re gone”
With that I felt a tremendous fear and bolted up the stairs.
“Hey man don’t worry about it I ain’t mad. Just get some new ones when you can that’s all!” He shouted.
I could barely hear him though as I raced to my room to check my computer. I thought it was just in power save mode when I woke up but now it wouldn’t even turn on. The screen was on standby, but the actual computer was unresponsive. After much frenzied inspection I found that the power chord had been cut. To Say I was freaked out would have been a massive understatement.
“What in the name of holy hell is going on??…” I remember muttering to myself.

It’s been a whole week since then, and things have just been getting stranger and stranger. The blackouts are becoming longer and more frequent, and I can feel myself slipping away. Every time I’ve slept I’ve been plagued by visions of the beast, pudding and ginger kids everywhere. I tried my best to fight it; I’ve been awake now for forty eight hours but it’s no use. I can feel Bill Cosby’s presence even in my waking moments. Sometimes I don’t know where I am and can’t communicate in anything other than nonsensical jabbering.
Two days ago I suddenly snapped back to reality to find myself staring at my fridge, full to the brim with pudding pops. I screamed and tried to run but immediately fell to the floor as I was wearing two halves of Watermelon on my feet instead of shoes.
I’m really scared. There’s no one in the house anymore, all my housemates have disappeared. I can’t even bear to think what may have happened to them, what I in my delirium may have done; the atrocities that monster may have used these hands for…
I’m doomed. There’s no hope for me, I realise that now. The reason I write this is to share my story so that whatever happens, at least I got chance to tell my side of it, and maybe spare other potential victims the horror of this terrible fate.
To those who loved me, my family, my friends; try to remember me as I once was.
To everyone else, for all that is holy, whatever you do- DO NOT WATCH THE VIDEO!!

Oh god *flipfloop* It’s happening again. I can *flimflam*feel it! God please!*ZamZobbidy*. I can’t *HipHobbidyhold out much longer!! He’s *KimKamKibbityComming!! ZimSomebody Help me!! ZimZamZobbidyZELP ME!!! ZELP MEEMBAMbobbidy…


Credit To – AbsoluteBillion, Beefnuts

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How to Write a Vidya Gaem Pasta

April 1, 2014 at 2:00 PM
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(A last hurrah to the Haunted Game ‘genre’, as it were.)

So, you’re wanting to write a video game crappy – erm, creepypasta? Think you have what it takes? To be honest, you probably don’t. But fear not! With just the submission form (who needs proofreading? Or drafts? Hell, who needs edits? Not you, that’s for sure!) and this handy guide, you’ll be writing terrible pastas in no time!
Wait, did I say ‘terrible’? Like, out loud?
I meant ‘beautiful’.
First of all, you’re going to have to pick a topic! Maybe you should go for something well known? Maybe try your hand at more obscure games? It’s your choice! Let’s get creative!
(And by ‘get creative’, I mean ‘write the same shitty pasta that’s already been written a thousand times before’. But that doesn’t matter. Whatever.)
>Try a Pokemon pasta! They were the most popular video game pasta subject for a reason, you know. Don’t know anything about Pokemon? Doesn’t matter – just as people who have never played Pokemon can pick it up easily, you don’t need to know anything about it to write a pokepasta! Just throw in some peekachoos and charozords and you’re all set!
>Maybe a Minecraft pasta? Just like how you can do so much in Minecraft, you can write so much about it too! ..Or you can just write about Herobrine! ‘Who’s a hero brown,’ you ask? Why, only a slightly original monster that was mutated into a cliched horror monster by thousands of bad fan misinterpretation!
>Try your hand at a Legend of Zelda pasta! Hey, you remember that one ‘ben drowned’ pasta you read about a year ago? Well, let’s write that again, but with all grammar or decent writing absent! I’m sure it’ll get thousands of upvotes! (read: downvotes)
>Something a bit more obscure? Why not? You could be contributing to the large amount of stories that only make sense to a small, unknown group of people! A scary story… about lawyers? Farming? Why? Why the hell not?

Wow, that took a while! Time for deciding the name of the pasta! This is nice and simple!


Sounds relatively simple! Let’s try it out a bit!
Pokemon: Bloodied Diamond
Minecraft: Curse of Herobrine
Ace Attorney: The Demonic Testimony

Do you like those names? I like those names. Let’s move on!

Of course, your main character has to get their game in some way. What’s that? Introducing the character? No, no, no, no, no. You’re doing it all wrong.
>”I got it from a garage sale/market sale/yard sale” – The oldest and best one in the book. If 99% of people write it this way, then it can’t possibly be bad, can it?
>”Some shady guy/girl/being of unidentifiable gender gave it to me” – Sometimes, we just want to skip the boring introduction and get straight to the action, and there’s no better way to do it than this.
>”I downloaded it online” – Who goes to garage sales anymore? Keep up with the times with this new, hip trend!

Moving on to step number three – of course, because this is a creepypasta, the game has to be haunted, right? But what’s it going to do?
>Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary – because hey, if you put in no effort here, you can use that effort later, right? That’s how it works, isn’t it? Right? Right?!
>A couple of graphical glitches – because nothing makes your viewers tremble more than the screen flickering a little or some colours changed. This is a true fact.
>Noises. – More specifically, weird noises. Glitchy sounds. Muffled screaming. The usual.
Okay, those are some basic ones, but why not step it up? Add some blood! Lots of blood! Also, make sure to use some of these words at least three times in the story…
Alright, we’ve got some scary shit going on, but if the main character ran away now, the pasta would stop half-way, right? Let’s choose an excuse for them to stay around.
>”I thought it was just a glitch”
>”I thought it was just a glitch”
>”I thought it was just a glitch”
Just kidding. You get no choice on this one. Trust me, this is for the better.
Alright, now just fill in the rest of the story using more glitches (as always, consider adding more blood and hyper-realism to your story), until WHAM! Something really scary happens! This can be anything – hell, it doesn’t have to be scary. Just as long as your main character responds fittingly. Or, alternatively, not-so-fittingly.
How will your protagonist respond to the sheer creepiness? How will this story meet its conclusion?
>Throw their console out – Destroy their DS! Pulverise their Playstation! Erm, throw a TV out the window? Whatever. It works.
>AND THEN THE PROTAG DIED – Dead things are creepy. People dying are creepy. Why not kill off the protagonist? I’m sure that, with the large amount of characterization we gave them earlier, it will really shock the readers. Honest.
>YOU’RE NEXT – Did you know that all creepypasta readers have a constant fear that there’s a monster behind them? Use this to your advantage? Everyone’s terrified of walls!

Alright, now we have the main story and -
Did you think that was finished?
Oh no, this is the fun part. Now we add some… er… personality to your story. And by ‘personality’, I mean ‘bad writing skills’. I mean, let’s face it, nobody really misses punctuation. I sure don’t.
Choose one of the following typing quirks – I mean, writing styles.
>capital letters. get rid of all your capital letters. no-one likes them at all. too old fashioned.
>Make Every Capital Letter Refined And Pronounced. This Makes You Seem Posh And Smart.
And at least one of these. You can have more, if you want to be EXTREME.
>Motherfucker, let’s get some fucking swears up in here. Swears are bitchin’ as shit. It makes you sound fuckin’ hip and cool. Fuck yeah.
>No punctuation ever at all because seriously having things just constantly flow is so much easier and better in every way wow
>Waht if you where unabel to spel things right? Sonds fun!
Congratulations! If you’re reading this, you’ve most likely just finished writing your first video game pasta! Now just publish your beautiful (read: horrendous) story (read: crap heap), and watch it get thousands of upvotes (read: downvotes) like it deserves! Good luck!

Credit To – Yu “The Operator” Meigns

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April 1, 2014 at 4:00 AM
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The following incident occurred last Sunday. I was in my study typing an email for work, when I fancied I heard a noise coming from my kitchen. I disregarded it. The house in which I live is old and strange noises were not uncommon. Not five minutes later I heard the noise again. It was a clicking of some sort. I broke out into a cold sweat. It was the sound of the backdoor unlocking. I opened my desk, pulled out my revolver, and closed the drawer. I stood up and quietly made my way to the door of my study. I carefully opened the door and stepped into the hall.
Darkness greeted me, thick and awful – a shroud hiding whomever was lurking in my house. Then again, the darkness was my protector as well. Knowing my house like the back of my hand, I didn’t bother turning on the lights. If someone truly was here I wanted to get the jump on them. I moved down the hall as silently as possible and listened as hard I could. Silence. Could I have been imagining things? As I mused over these points a soft padding played its way from the direction of my kitchen to the other side of the house. No shoes or boots could make such a stealthy noise. Had the intruder removed his shoes before entering? The steps sounded lighter than a full grown man’s. They sounded like a child’s footsteps or those of a large dog.
At this point I decided to call out. “Hello!” I bellowed loudly, the volume of my voice causing me to recoil! “Get ahold of yourself, man”, I whispered to myself. I yelled out again. “I am armed and the police are on their way!” Stupid me! Why hadn’t I called the police when I was in the study?
I made my way to the kitchen, entered slowly and saw that I was very much alone. Everything seemed to be in its place yet when I turned the lights on I had to choke down a scream – the backdoor I had double locked for the night only two hours before lay wide open! Adding to the horror, I discovered 2 sets of small, muddy barefooted prints leading to the stairs. I closed the door quietly. “Who the fuck is in my house?” I thought, my mind beginning to race, “and how did they undo the locks?” I decided I would follow the footprints and… a new sound impressed itself upon my ears. The sound of muffled conversation came from above. Whoever was in my house had made their way to the upstairs bedroom.
I steeled my nerves and swallowed the lump in my throat. This was my house. Whoever was whispering in my bedroom was invading my privacy and threatening my safety. I had to deal with it. I made to the bottom of the steps, switched on the light and yelled, “Show yourself!” Weighted silence greeted me. “I have a gun and I will use it! Surrender yourself!” My adrenaline began to pump, and no longer cautious, I took the stairs two by two, slammed open my bedroom door, and leveled the gun at… nothing. My large bedroom, the only room on the second floor, was entirely empty. I looked at the floor found the same footprints that were in the kitchen, only they stopped in the middle of the room. My blood ran cold. I checked the closet and under the bed but there was no one to be seen. Was I going mad? I made my way back into hall when the door suddenly slammed closed behind me. I shouted in terror and bounded back down the stairs, through the kitchen, and into my study. I slammed the door and locked it tight. I collapsed in my chair and passed out.
Footsteps. I awoke just in time to hear them pad their way down the stairs, across the kitchen and – to my horror stop outside my study door. Locks seemed powerless to stop these entities and I waited for the knob to turn. Instead, I heard something that chilled my blood. A voice whispering in the hall. A horrible voice belonging to someone no longer alive! My heart pounded. My blood froze in my veins. My lips moved and my throat uttered a gibbering mess. The doorknob began to turn, the locks disengaging as if by magic. The door creaked open slowly.
Nothing. Emptiness. Darkness. I feared I had gone truly mad. Then again the sounds of footsteps, but this time going away from my study. The back door opened and closed leaving me in deafening silence. After what seemed like an eternity, I stood and shakily made my way to the kitchen. The light was still on and nothing seemed out of order. The back door was closed and I could see that the lock was again engaged. Looking around, I noticed a piece of paper on the table. I moved closer, picked up the note, and began to laugh horribly. It read, “Sorry, wrong house.”

Credit To – Big Dom

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The Creeps

April 1, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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With all the patience of a man trying to pass a kidney stone, I rubbed at the red rubber ball attached to my nose, waiting and praying for Jeff to finish reading his story assignment to the class. It was Halloween, and all the students were dressed up as their favorite villain, monster, or conservative tea-party political activist. I had merely wanted to throw a sheet over my head and parade around as a ghost; an easily removable costume that would hide me from the banal torture of teaching another creative writing course to less than zealous students; but my wife insisted I go as a clown.

‘You have to set an example,’ she told me, as she applied the makeup to my face. I was already wearing floppy shoes with fluffy dingleberries dangling from the toes, and a pink and blue ruffled outfit that looked like it had been ordered from RainbowDepot.com. ‘Besides, we’ll need the sheets for later in case you decide to hang yourself,’ she concluded, only half-jokingly.

Swallowing my irritation, I pleaded my case, ‘Dammit, woman, it’s Halloween. I should at least look semi-creepy.’

‘But you are creepy, dear,’ she replied, using her lipstick to paint a smudged smile across my frowning mouth. ‘You’re Booooo-koo creepy.’

Inwardly groaning, I laughed at the wife’s feeble attempt at humor, and complied with her anal decision to transform me into Pennywise’s flamboyant stepbrother; if only to avoid another night of burnt pot roast and sleeping on the sofa.

As I gazed at myself in the mirror before heading to school, I knew I was smiling on the outside but I was summoning Cthulhu on the inside.

* * *

“And then . . .”, Jeff read, finally coming to the ending of his tedious and grammatical train wreck of a story. “A skeleton popped out of the toilet and gobbled him up!”

There were a few titters from the students, mostly from the tweekers, but no one applauded. After forty-five minutes and twenty inane attempts at something that even resembled passable literature, I felt their numbness and boredom, and I secretly prayed for a quick and painless apocalypse to descend upon the earth.

“Pretty good, huh?” Jeff asked me, turning his masked visage to my own.

“No, Jeff,” I responded, the jackhammer in my skull forcing the blunt shards of candor from my tongue. “It was shit. Now take your seat.”

I could smell Jeff’s disappointment from across the room, and it was far less than fresh.

“Dude, you can’t mean that. I spent all week . . . I mean I stayed up all night . . . well, I got up extra early and my parents helped me write this story. It’s the best story ever!”

“And did you use a dictionary or thesaurus while composing your chef d’oeuvre?”

“What?” Jeff nervously glanced to his classmates for encouragement. “They didn’t have those things in the cafeteria.”

“Ahhhh, truth at last,” I replied, while steepling my fingers in front of my chin. “Let me be as equally truthful: if I hadn’t taken a 5-hour energy drink with my lunch then your story would have put me to sleep.”

“I’ll put you to sleep,” Jeff grumbled, as he stomped back to his desk.

I could feel the mischievous grin spreading out from beneath his mask, infecting some of the others, and I thought about chucking an eraser at Jeff’s retreating back, but then quickly calmed myself. I could no longer remember why I put up with this nonsense. Was it out of love or lunacy? Probably a little of both.

“You are the future of literature, the saviors of the written word,” I blared at the class. “But right now I am ashamed for all of you.”

“But I don’t wanna’ be a writer!” Jane whined, confessing her aversion to the uneasy climate left in the wake of Jeff’s outburst. “I wanna’ be the first female president so I can end war and bring peace and charity to the whole world through emotional angst and feminine hyperbole.”

I stared at that deranged black widow wannabe, watching her drag a nail file across her fingers. What she really wanted was to be a serial killer like her brother, but I knew she lacked the balls.

“Oh, shut the hell up!” Jonny Rake yelled at her in his urban, northeastern drawl, and then he slithered down to hide behind his desk.

As strange as it sounds, I could never keep a clear picture of Rake in my mind. Some of the kids said he looks like a canine Mr. Bigglesworth, and I would have dismissed the notion as teenage taunting if not for the strong odor of Kibbles n’ Bits.

I heard a growling sound coming from the far left corner of the classroom where the dog was sitting. He just innocently waved at me and smiled.

Suddenly, the door opened and a fashionably dressed, anorexic looking fellow sauntered into my classroom. His pale face hidden in shadow, he stretched out his gangly arms before he plunged his finger down his throat, purging himself of salsbury steak and 2% milk all over the floor. He then ran from the room, all the while crying about how nobody loved him because of how fat he was.

That strange event had an even stranger effect on the students. Like hypnotized mall rats, they all began to fold their stories as if practicing origami, shaping their papers into crude looking hammers. When the bell rang they all stood as one, eerily silent, devoid of their normal ruckus, and marched single-file out into the hallway. Filled with curiosity and foreboding dread, I followed behind, only to witness the ignorant zombies making a beeline for the other kids. They raised their muddled mallets to the sky as if in supplication to some Norse deity, and then brought them down onto the psyche of the unsuspecting student body.

Chaos ensued. I heard the screams from the other students as they suffered from the stinging wounds of abysmal writing and paper cuts. Mercifully, the lights went out, casting the hallway into indecipherable blackness. But I could still hear my own students chanting in unison from out of that decaying and illiterate cavity -

“We make holes in head! We make holes in head!”

Credit To – spankmegranny

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Delivery Boy

March 31, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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Coming from a poor family, my parents have always struggled to pay for my education. I decided to take some load of them when I got accepted into college and began scouring newspapers and magazines for part-time jobs to earn some money. However, finding a job was easier said than done- the employers all wanted workers who had a completed college education and substantial work experience- both of which I did not have.

It was after a couple of months and countless failed interviews that I finally received a phone call. I could recognize the gruff voice on my phone almost immediately- it belonged to Harris, a tough, burly man who managed a private delivery service in a dingy old warehouse by the edge of the town. In his short, curt manner, he notified me that I had gotten the job and that I would start the following week.

I was elated. The job paid relatively well and fitted in perfectly with my school schedule. The job would also provide me with a new bike, something that I couldn’t have afforded in the past.

The deliveries I made in the first few months were relatively simple- the furthest place I had to go was just over by the next town, a mere half hour bike-ride away. These deliveries were fine, they were fast, they were quick. However, I wanted to go further and earn myself even more money.

I finally got my chance when Harris rung me up early Saturday morning, at 1AM.

‘Charles. You up for a job?’

‘Harris- it’s 1AM. Are you insane?’ I moaned.

‘It’s got a double payload. Are you in or not?’

Double payload? That definitely got my attention. I quickly agreed and made my way towards the warehouse.

The package to be delivered was larger and heavier than those that I had delivered before. It also had a faint odour- I couldn’t really place my finger on what the smell exactly was, but it was rather disturbing. I had a strong urge to break the number one rule of the business and almost questioned Harris about the contents of the package. It was only the incentive of the double payload that kept me quiet. The only thing Harris had said to me before he left was ‘Get it there as fast as possible.’

So off I went, into the dead of the night. It was a very unnerving experience, to be cycling down the empty and dimly lit streets, past the countless shop-houses that have been closed for the night. The only source of noise was the 24-hour pub a few streets away, its low drone of music and noise furthering fueling my anxiety.

The destination was to be a couple of towns away and if I cycled by the main road it would have taken me about a couple of hours, which was far too long. I decided to take the alternative route- through the forest outlining the town, which would effectively cut down my travelling time by half.

In hindsight I probably should have stuck by the main road.

It’s been close to two hours, and I’m horribly lost. The path that I had been following had disappeared completely along the way, and my stupid bike is proving to be nothing but a hindrance on the rocky ground of the forest. I decided to call Harris for some directional help.

I had only a bar on reception and after several attempts, I managed to reach him.

‘Harris. I’ve got no idea where the hell I am.’

‘Are you in the forest?’ His voice was infused with loud static and it was really difficult to make out what he was saying.

‘I can’t really hear you- I’m lost in the damn forest and this package is stinking it up. I’m coming- hello?’ There was a sudden rush of loud, crackling static and the call cut off. ‘Shit shitting shit.’

I’m close to a full scale panic attack right now. My only source of light is the screen of my dying cellphone and the dim moonlight filtering through the dense canopy above. Praying feverishly, I decide to trudge on and hopefully, just hopefully, I’ll get out of here.

The package is proving to be a massive burden. It’s taking every bit of effort I’ve got left just to keep it up on my bike, which I am now pushing alongside myself.

I’m not sure if I’m imagining things, but I’ve just passed by a couple of bikes, just like my own, lying in a ragged heap by the side of the bushes. They look awfully rusty, dirty and old, and there’s a thick layer of moss and grime covering it. It’s almost as if they’ve been tossed and abandoned by a couple of bikers. Weird.

After a couple of minutes more of trekking, I became aware of movement among the trees beside me. I could feel my adrenaline level rising as I quickened my steps. I was seriously considering abandoning my bike and the questionable package by then when I spotted a dim ball of light in the distance.

In my state of panic and fear, I quickly headed towards the light without considering its source.

I can now hear growls coming from my side. Growls, snarls, and the occasional cracking of branches and twigs.

Sweat pouring down my face, I broke into a run and sprinted towards the light, leaving my bike and package behind.

I’ve finally reached the light. Turns out the light was really from the inside of a small wooden house located in the middle of the forest. I could make out human voices and some kind of folk music emanating from within it.

I probably shouldn’t have approached the house at all. After all, what sort of people would live in a house in the middle of the woods? However, the loud growls and snarls from behind me quickly secured my decision and I clambered up the rickety stairs in a state of panic, thumped my fists onto the door, all the while yelling for help.

The door finally creaked open and without thinking, I barged in and slammed the door shut behind me. Panting heavily in both relief and exhaustion, I realized that the house was inhabited by a group of elderly people. Draped in shawls and cloaks, they eyed me curiously before one of them, an old, muscular man, frowned.

‘Where’s the package, boy?’ He asked.

‘Package?’ I responded, confused and fairly freaked out by then.

‘He’s lost it. Just like the other one.’ The old man sighed and turned towards the others. ‘We’ve got to make do with him.’

Genuinely frightened, I backed up towards the door and tried the doorknob, only to realize that the door was locked from the outside.

‘Where are you going?’ An elderly woman, her eyes glassy and white, approached me from my right. As I turned towards her, she broke into a wide grin, revealing a set of sharp, pointed teeth. ‘Where are you going, boy?’
I whipped back to face the others. All of them, like the elderly woman, wore maniacal grins and had the same set of pointed teeth.

‘The party’s just started.’

Hey guys, my name’s Lucas, and I’ve just moved into town. I must be having a stroke of good luck because not only did I manage to get a well-paying job delivering packages, but my boss has just contacted me about this double payload job. All I’ve got to do is to deliver some package to some place a couple of towns away. I know it’s kinda late, it’s just a little after 1AM, but I think I’m going to take the job. The boss just told me to make it quick though, I think he’s worried for my safety. How nice of him. Well, alright then, I think I’m going to cut through the forest, I’ll be so much quicker that way.

Credit To – Angelica Ng

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